


Concrete Flowers

by FrejaStahl



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1980s, Asian Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original Fiction, POV Original Character, Past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2020-02-29 23:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18788254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrejaStahl/pseuds/FrejaStahl
Summary: The story of the life of a young South Asian woman, probably very similar to many South Asian women who end up in a different country to the one they grew up in. Not everything comes up roses for many though.I'm trying to stay as culturally relevant as possible with this story. It will have multiple chapters, which I will add as I finish them.I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I am writing this. There are probably typos! Please excuse! I write these on a phone app, when I have free time.





	1. Basant

It's the height of Spring in 1980s Lahore. The perfect time for Basant, a festival celebrating the return of warmer weather, with longer days and much shorter nights. Which meant more time to be able to do more during the day. It also meant more time for planning for later on in the night. 

The other ladies of the house are busy in the haveli, seeing to the cooks in the kitchen making sure they make tonight's menu correctly. They're all dressed up in their most exquisitely adorned, brightly coloured clothes. My Aapa, eldest sister, dressed in her blue and silver sharara, a heavily embellished dupatta cast over her shoulders allowing the rest of the drapery to fall over her torso, ensuring the gorgeously detailed embroidery was visible to anyone who saw her - was essentially the Head of our household.

Ever since my Ammi passed away when I was very little, and since my Abbayi was never quite the same since his accident, she took over looking after us in our house. Whenever she used to visit us, of course. She is over 20 years older than I am, so I have only ever seen her married and visiting us thereafter. She was very different from the way Ammi ran the house, although she still tried to keep things as they were.

Ammi was the quintessential lady of the house. I always thought she was very forward thinking for her time, bearing in mind she grew up in 1940s of what was then India, but now was Pakistan. Ammi had some harrowing stories from The Partition. Things that a little girl, of which she was at that time, should never have to see. Ammi had lost countless friends and family and often spoke of how it never made any sense how people who had been close friends for generations, over one night, had developed such hatred for the other that they had reduced themselves to the violent monsters they had shown themselves to be. Ammi would often make sure our Hindu, Sikh and Christian neighbours were the first to receive a newly cooked meal that was being especially made for any event, be it the seasonal change, Eid, Ramadan, Christmas, Diwali, Lohri and the like. We used to go to their havelis and they used to come to ours. We had even attended a wedding at a church, the one time I remember rushing to see the bride and sitting by her side before she was ready to go to church for the ceremony. We had been invited by Malcolm and his mum Julie. Malcom's new wife was called Mary and I recall her beautiful white dress and veil as she walked towards the altar. Ammi had dressed me in a flowery cotton dress with lace collar and puffy sleeves, with my hair in two little plaits in either side of my head - I used to love my pigtails. I remember how ornate the inside of the church was and how terrible the lady playing the organ was. Granted she was 80something years old, but still. After the ceremony, Malcolm and Mary came to our haveli to get Ammi's blessings before they went on their holiday together. "Have a blessed marriage, may you have a long life of happiness together.", Ammi hugged Mary and patted Malcolm on the head as they left. Mary was carrying a box of homemade food for the journey Ammi had just prepared and insisted they take to make their journey comfortable. "I will see you very soon, Amma", Malcolm too used to call my Ammi his Amma, "Thank you for the food!" he waved as they sat in a taanga, a horse and carriage taxi to take them to the train station. 

Ammi couldn't see after an accident which caused her to lose her sight. Yet she was one of the most independent women I ever knew. Ammi used to organise accounts and finances of the household. She used to ensure that all of her employed workers got first pick of the crop or harvest from the family farm. 

If anyone was to question the way she did things, her response was always the same, "They do all the work, they sweat hard in the sun so that privileged wayloaders like us can eat. They get first pick." I remember her saying, as she reclined on the charpay crocheting a little vest for someone as a gift. Ammi also made sure the cooks and cleaners ate the same food we ate. This way she ensured they were well looked after and were being treated fairly and professionally. She kept no difference between basic humanitarian treatment of people under her employment.

Ammi was very keen on pardah, practicing the veil, her thought on it was, "why should anyone get to see me, if I can't see them?" she had a sense of humour too. But she never enforced veiling on the rest of the family. I recall as a child Aapa used to wear the veil, but when she was married she stopped. Ammi never questioned it once. Although I had done so. As a little child back then, I asked "Ammi, Aapa didn't have the veil on anymore." to which Ammi responded, "well that's her decision now, isn't it. Who am I to come between the decision an adult makes for themselves." followed by a "now get yourself to sleep, you take forever waking up for school in the mornings."

Aapa likes to remind me of that time, even now. I'll never live it down.

Then there's my Baaji, second in line, known as the scholarly one of our household. Baaji loved her university books, but she also used to love her fashion. She had to be the most up to date in fashion in the house. Baaji was wondering around the house, still not fully ready screaming for an iron so that she could press her newly tailored check-printed, yellow and brown top to go with her brown flared trousers. Her hair in a tightly wound bun with a pencil stuck in it to hold it in place, she still had her night top on and was running around the balcony that circled above the courtyard of the haveli. Baaji disturbed the flowers newly blossomed on the ancient tree that grew through the centre of the courtyard overlooking the entire height of the haveli, taking pink and white petals back inside towards her bedroom as she went. She checked her thick winged eye-liner in the hallway ornate mirror before continuing to rant at the closest domestic help to go and get her an iron, "vaara ainvai vaj gai nay!", "it's noon already!" she screamed, hurrying back to her room in her sandals.

Aamnah, my third eldest sister, having heard Baaji complaining at the bottom of the courtyard, walked towards Baaji's room and tapped on the door, "your iron", she stated smiling, jovially shaking her auburn curls that made her ornate earrings swing with a light jingle. She wore an emerald green gharara with a dull gold dhabka work dupatta, which she tied across her torso knotted at her hip to keep it out of her way. Her deep green glass bangles jingled as she tightened the knot making her way back down to the courtyard.

Aamnah who must have been only a few years younger than Baaji, but I always called her Aamnah, had been up since dawn. Ammi and Abbayi used to describe her as "suggardh" or proficient in household work. It almost used to come naturally to her. Aamnah was usually the first one awake (after Ammi was) and it was as if her internal clock wouldn't let her wake up slowly. If she was up she was going about doing some chore or another of the household. She'd given up a lot - mainly her studies - when Abbayi was no longer the way he used to be.

You see Abbayi was a political speaker, when he used to work that is. He was always the main speaker at rallies and would spend many hours writing speaches and talking at mass congregations around the country. He was fluent in at least six languages that I knew of; Urdu, Punjabi, Hindi, Arabic, Farsi, and English. He was a very learned man and was an active member of the political goings on. I recall him preparing for his regular speeches in which he'd address thousands of people. He'd wear his traditional suit of a crisp white shalwaar with a rich, black sherwani, finished with his multani chappals and topi. During winter he'd drape a woolen shawl, often gifted to him by Ammi, to keep warm. He always used to bring me my favourite mithai, or sweets, upon his return. If on some occasion he were to forget, I'd go running towards him expecting to receive a box. Only for him to realise he'd forgotten to bring me a very important box of mithai. It didn't matter what time it was, he would turn right back around and go to bring me some mithai. I was his favourite. So much so, that he'd often do my homework for me when I didn't feel like doing it.

"You're going to spoil her, Abbayi", Baaji would often warn. "she is already very careless as it is."  
"Chal, rehnde", Abbayi would respond softly, "my baccha is tired from playing all day." I would stand behind him, my arms wrapped around his neck, tongue pointed firmly out at Baaji. "Which reminds me, will some kind soul in this house bring an old man a cup of hot tea?". It was 4pm and he was accustomed to having a cup of tea to relax at the end of his day. Aamnah was always ahead of him, "Already here, Abbayi." She'd place the cup of steaming chai on a weaved, pink and green patterned coaster in front of him. Abbayi would place a hand on Aamnah's head, "jiaundi reh", "live long, my child" he'd respond, proud at how well she knew him.

One afternoon Abbayi had left for one of his congregational speeches, but hadn't returned as he always had. We were informed that there had been an accident on his return journey, in which he had sustained a terrible head injury. He had been in hospital for a while, but was cleared to come home with a warning from the doctors that he may not recall as much as he had done previously. We had been advised to provide him 24 hour care, but Ammi by that time had already passed away, Aapa was married and had her own home, Baaji had her university (as did my brothers who had taken compassionate leave from their respective training at the army, navy and air force to be at home to sort the situation out), and I was very young. The only person who stood up to the responsibility was Aamnah. Not only would she look after us when Aapa wasn't home (which was most of the time), but she made sure Abbayi was well looked after too. This unfortunately meant that she had to give up her studies, but she never felt upset at her decision. It has to be said that Aamnah was always the happiest one of the family, no matter what happened. She always had a slight smile on her face and I for one admired her for it.

Aamnah continued down the marble staircase that ran through the haveli and returned to sorting the jars of multiple pickled vegetables that had been fermenting for the last few days. "Has anyone seen Abira?", she asked the group of domestic help who were placing the jars in various boxes to be sent to a number of our neighbours' houses. "Nahi, Bibiji", they declined, "but Choti Bibi did go out yesterday and bought a number of kites."

"Aaho", Aapa laughed, "she's going to be running across the roof somewhere." she giggled shaking her head as if to say, "what else would she be doing."

"Pull the string! Khench, Khench, Khench yaar!", I shouted at Babblu, I waved in the direction I meant to save our kite which was flying high in the morning sky. The sun wasn't as high yet so it was a comfortable warm climate to be on the vast expanse of the roof of the haveli. Munibah was wrapping reems and reems of kite string around the wooden winder in her arm. Criss-crossing the string across the length of the winder, her arm hooking the handles at the elbows. Babblu pulled at the string, keeping the kite afloat far in the sky. 

Munibah (my school friend) and Babblu (it was a nickname we had for him, his real name was Bashir) and I were orchestrating our plan of attack on the kite we had been sparring with for the last few hours. We'd already lost two kites to the kids from the next street and we weren't about to lose another. I was already dressed in a bright yellow shalwar kameez, with baby blue piping around the collar and three quarter length sleeve cuffs accessorised with a blue and yellow dupatta that had kirron lining the border, which I had gathered at the neck to fall over my back to keep out of my way. I had woken up especially early since we had planned to spar with the rivals from across the neighbourhood a few night ago. I had placed all my clothes in order and made sure my new sparkly khussay were placed ready for me to throw on. That way nobody could complain I was being slow or lazy, as I was usually accused of being, and I could spend maximum time flying kites! I was watching the other kite, trying to stay a few steps ahead of their next potential attack.

We swung our kite away from theirs and they would pursue it twisting the string to entangle it. "Uff! It's another goner!" Babblu exasperated, "another kite zaaya, wasted!" our kite was cut!!! We dropped silent and the kids from the other street were celebrating, we could hear their cheers as their dhol-wallah played faster. Sometimes people would be so excited about Basant, they'd hire musicians, namely dhol-wallahs to play at their houses. 

Babblu looked at Munibah who's eyes were open wide and was chewing her bottom lip. They both knew what was coming as they exchanged a knowing glance. Babblu held back a laugh and Munibah flicked her hand as was the custom then which was a sign to say, "off she goes!" 

Running the length of the roof I shout at the kids across the street stood on their roof. They had gone too far and had lined their kite strings with powdered glass! This made the string sharper and was a well known cheating method used by kite flying fans who aimed to win at any cost.

"Abhay, you cheating little gaddhay!" I screamed at the top of my voice, various auntie jees and maasi jees who were up on their roofs looked at me disapprovingly as if to say, "this is no way for a lady to behave." I didn't care! I'd lost three kites now and it was because the other side were cheating!! I was absolutely livid, "Gaddhay!!", it means donkey, "I should have known than to trust someone like you! You never play fair!" my hands were on hips, my blue and yellow glass churiyan jingled down my wrist as I theatrically dramatised the entire situation. My long plait swung behind my right shoulder as I swept it back - I had no patience for my hair right now - and my mirrored hair tie, a parandah, followed the circumference of the back of my waist, swung round and hit the left side of my leg, reflecting the sunlight as it went. I could see Abhay and his friends laughing away, holding on to their stomachs as if to tell me it was the funniest thing they'd seen in years. This used to rile me up quite a lot back then. "Just you wait!", I gestured behind to my friends to come with me, "I'm coming to get my kites back!!"

The three of us headed towards the staircase leading down from the roof of the haveli. We had to be very quiet and careful as to not let one of the domestic help see us as we went. Little tell-tales that they were, they'd let Aapa know we were going out, and I didn't want to get caught up in some domestic chore that was probably being assigned to me without my knowledge. Thankfully the stairs leading from the roof ran the back of the haveli, away from the courtyard and towards the front lawn. Brightly coloured flags had been draped from the haveli walls to the perimeter of the walls that encased our home in celebration of Basant. I remember these walls being very high and were white washed annually or on the eve of an important occasion.

Our front lawn was huge, bursting with various exotic plants and flowers, and multiple fruit trees. In the summer we were inundated with various fruit like oranges, grapefruit, mangos and guavas and also berries called faalsa and jaamun, such that you could smell the perfume of the fruit all around the garden. We'd get so much fruit that often Aamnah would make jams, pickles and chutneys with them to store in our pantry, or gift them away. All the trees had blossomed gorgeously already and you could tell this summer would be a great one for fruit this year.

These trees also helped us to cross the length of the lawn without being seen! We finally made it to the large gate of the haveli, I could hear someone calling out to me from inside the courtyard "Abiraaaah!", elongating the last syllable of my name. I froze for a second and then rushed to open the latch of the side gate, "Jaldi, Jaldi, quick let's just get out it's not as if we'll be staying there very long!" I gestured to Munibah and Babblu, letting them go out first as I jumped and twirled around to close the latch of the gate behind me. Being so brightly dressed today it would have been hard to miss us, but because the entire neighbourhood was also brightly dressed, we blended in seamlessly.


	2. Kite tails

We manage to make it out of the alley way when we finally get to the big street. It's a huge hustle and bustle of people, food stalls, flower wallahs and Chai wallahs. The kulfi (traditional aromatic ice cream) wallah calls out to the children running past their parents towards him to grab the sticks of very quickly melting kulfis, as their parents walk jovially up behind them pulling out notes to pay.

Multiple rickshaws and taangas criss cross between the people and stalls as we try to dot our way across to the other neighbourhood. I squint my eyes through the dust rising from the main road and we finally make it to the other side. I'm very mindful of the time, as I don't want anyone at home to realise I've been out too long. As we walk down the street towards Abhay's gated haveli, I can see my kite caught on a tree close to his gates. I signal to run and get Babblu to keep watch as I start climbing up the tree.

“Just make sure Abhay and his chamchaas don't come out before I've taken the kite, atcha?" I explain, already hoisted halfway up the first branch. A few leaves and twigs fall towards Munibah and Babblu, along with some ants attached to the tree I noticed only now!! "I'm already emotionally invested in this", I convince myself trying to ignore the huge ants that are very well known for biting hard, "just grab the damn kite and go!"

I reach out to the sparkly tail of the kite fluttering lightly. My bangles jingle as they fall from my wrist towards the other end of my arm. The edge of the tail misses the end of my fingers a few times. "Hurry Abirah!", Munibah rushed me, "Aapa is probably already asking after you! Also, Abba is probably wondering where I am and you know how he gets when I'm out longer than I need to be, do you remember when.." "Shush! Chup! I've almost got it!" I stopped her in her tracks. She had a habit of talking for a little longer than necessary and now was not the time!

I finally managed to get a grip of the kite's tails and pulled as hard as I could manage. A few leaves and ants shaken by the movement fell towards me and I instantly jumped out of the bough I teetered on. As I landed Abhay opened the gates to his haveli, laughing and clapping. I straightened my dupatta and squared up to him, "Haha, kya baat hai! It wasn't enough you lost three kites today, you wanted to be bitten up by ants too haan?" Abhay laughed.

"I'm not here to listen to your nonsense, Abbayi is waiting for me, just give me my other kites and I'll go." I bluntly stated. 

"Hain?? What 'other kites', I won them, they're mine!" he taunted.

"Dekho, I know you used glass on your kites to cut mine that means you cheated which means they're still mine. Now either give me my kites or let me in and I'll take them off you!" we started backing him up towards his gates' door. Abhay blocked the route, holding on to the frame of the doorway. "Kishen Chacha!!", I screamed at the top of my lungs towards Abhay's dad who was a friend of Abbayi. Abhay instantly moved out of the way, he looked back his smile vanishing from his face faster than he realised I had already made my way through the courtyard to his haveli. "How are you, Chacha?" I winked at Abhay as we walked up past him and went to receive his dad's blessings. Babblu raised his eyebrows and Munibah stuck her tongue out at Abhay as she waved the first obtained kite. Abhay stood shaking his head, smirking with his hands on his hips. "Aao, aao!" Kishen Chacha welcomed us and patted the three of us on the head as we approached, "Happy Basant! What brings you here?"

"Well!" I started, "Abhay here was.." "er just about to hand the kites over to them that I had a hold of for Abirah", Abhay butted in. I recall his dad was a man that valued fairness and did not appreciate any kind of cheating or swindle. No matter how small the matter. Kishen Chacha immediately noticed a change in his son's behaviour, "what are you up to, puttrah?" We all started giggling. Now you all have to remember, we're talking about a time where the fear of being punished was enough to instill fear in us by our elders, let alone the punishment itself. Rarely did it ever get to the punishment itself. 

"Puttrah" was a term used by the elders in a household for their children or even anyone who was a little bit younger than them. It was also used to give a very obviously guilty child space and time to admit what it was that they had done, before the wrath of any parent or elder was unleashed. Abhay recognised the cue. Kishen Chacha raised an eyebrow and twitched and twisted one end of his very proudly owned majestic moustache. (To those of you in the know, it was very much a Maula Jutt style moustache).

"Aray, nothing naa, Baoji! Just a little bit of fun between some friends", Abhay made a gesture to one of his friends who ran towards him handing over the other two kites that they had cheatingly won over to me, "here's those kites I was holding on for you, Abirah." The strained smile in his eyes were enough to keep my mouth shut. I was very happy at getting all of my kites back to their rightful owner. 

"Aaho", Kishen Chacha stared at his son nodding knowingly. His gaze softened and turned to us standing in their courtyard, "come and try some of our freshly made chass", a milky drink frothed up and chilled, "Shabbo was milked this morning." He explained proudly. Shabbo was their family buffalo, one of many. Kishen Chacha owned a buffalo farm and often would gift us milk based treats he and his wife, Gayatri Chachi, would make at home and today was going to be no different. It was futile to even attempt to refuse him as he would always insist and there was no way we would win in an argument against him. His youngest daughter, Chambeli, dressed in a multicoloured traditional dress called a ghagra-choli came hurrying towards us with many steel glasses brimming and spilling over with the chilled frothy drink. Chambeli was a lot younger than all of us and looked up to me as an elder sister, "Wah Chambeli! Don't you look lovely today!" I gave her a hug after she placed the try on a the ledge of their holy basil plant they were growing in their courtyard. "Do you like my dress??!!" she jumped up and down in excitement. "Yes!" I beamed at her. I too cared for her like she was my own little sister. "Bhaiyya got it for me!" she explained running towards Abhay. "That's nice." I replied with a smike, looking up to Abhay as if to say "so you are capable of being nice." Abhay smiled back at me. We were good friends really. And the kite battles was something we both looked forward to every year. Even if it sometimes meant I'd have to ransack his house to find my unfairly won kites or even chancing a monumental shouting at from his dad! It was part of the fun. 

We sat for a while in their courtyard drinking the chaas when Gayatri Chachi walked up to us holding boxes of mithai, milk based sweets filled with sugar, nuts, ghee and dried coconut. I loved berfi and the three of us didn't hesitate to take a box each. 

"Shodiiii!" Abhay taunted at me in a whisper (it meant greedy), digging his elbow into my side. "Kanjoos!!!" I hissed back at him (it meant tight-fisted), digging right back before speaking to his mum sweetly. "Thank you so much, Chachi, they'll love to try this at home" a sudden panic set over me thinking I'd been out for a while and I was meant to be helping out Amnah with the pickles and chutneys! 

"You're so welcome my child" she beamed at me as she pressed her sari down at her lap. "I hear your Baaji has a potential suitor all the way from the USA coming to see her soon." That was true, she was next in line to be married and there had been word that some so-and-so "Amreekan" family were coming to meet our family. "Jee," I rushed to finish the chaas, "and I've been out for a very long time now and I think Aapa will go livid if she finds I haven't helped out at home! Thank you both so much for the drink and mithai, but we should really get going." I could see Munibah's face was in a panic too, her "my dad is probably going spare" look had set in. The only one that seemed a little calmer was Babblu. He was a boy, you see, so he could be anywhere and nobody seemed to care! That just happened to be the era that we lived in. I'd try to push my boundaries a lot, even if it meant being grounded for days, but I guess you have to start a change somewhere! Nonetheless I was still mindful of my Aapa and I couldn't stand her using Abbayi getting worried (bearing in mind he was already quite sick) as an excuse to push the guilt boat out. 

"Atchaa, my child. Give them our regards." Gayatri Chachi and Kishen Chacha followed us towards the gate. We ran out as fast as possible and rushed towards our neighbourhood. The streets were still really busy and thankfully our havelis were situated next to each other. Munibah's house was the first to come by and she quickly rushed towards her gates and rushed in, "Kithay rehgayi sau?!", which meant "Where were you!!??" Babblu and I heard her mum inside their garden, we couldn't hear Munibah's voice but after a moment her mum responded, "Aaho, you and your kites!" Babblu and I couldn't help but laugh, but my gate had arrived. Babblu waved as I went in and he ran towards his gate which was the haveli next to mine. I heard his gate close as I was halfway through the courtyard. That gave me the satisfaction that I knew he was safely home. 

There was nobody in the courtyard, so I saw this as my perfect chance to make it up the staircase and run up towards my room. My bangles jingled as I ran up each step, the kite tails trailing behind me as I went. As my foot landed on the last step Aapi called out from the bottom of the staircase, "Abi!" that was my nickname in the house, "brought back your kites did you?"

I slowly turned and forgot that I still had the box of sweets in my hands that I was meant to put down in the kitchen. "Err ji Aapa..." I told her sheepishly. She opened her mouth to have a rant and before she could, I started "look, Gayatri Chachi gave us sweets! She made them herself! She said hello! Shabbo has been giving a lot of milk recently and she also gave me chass!" 

"OK, no need to divert my attention." she said matter of factly taking the sweet box from me. "I know full well where you went and why." she ended opening the box of sweets, "Ah, berfi! These sweets will be handy for later on this evening." I nodded, breathing a sigh of relief I was let off lightly. "Maybe the busyness of today has been a blessing!" I thought. "I'll go clean up and start helping Amnah" I said as I hurriedly turned around and ran up the stairs towards my room. 

Aapa had already started making her way back to the courtyard, as I landed on the first floor and went on my way to my bedroom.


	3. Achars in Jars

My room was at the furthest East facing section of the haveli. This meant that every morning I'd rise to a bright sunlit room that would help me to wake up naturally. My large ornate vanity mirror tilted slightly towards my headstand for my bed, letting the sun shine at me as my soundless alarm clock. As I burst through my bedroom door I threw my rescued kite on the rung of my mirror. It haplessly fell on to my vanity box, making my churian (bangles) stand sing as it fell. 

My windows were vast and vintage, with dusty wooden shutters that would push outwards to open. I'd keep them open quite often, leaving only a mosquito trap door between myself and any prying insect that would hover across the balcony. My room window would overlook on to our family farm and all other connecting plots around the area. The view was a stark contrast to what the haveli's front door opened out to, with rolling fields of green, mustard yellow and multiple shades of blue, pink and orange as the flowers for planted crops had began to bloom for the spring. I could see herds of buffalo and goats being led towards the lake by a mazdoor (worker) and tractors and trucks would run up and down dusty dirt roads that criss-crossed between the fields, creating clouds of powder yellow as they went. The dusty roads would lead on to tarmacked main roads which would run towards to city where most of the havelis were built (long before I was born). It was always fun to see the trucks getting stuck behind the herds of animals, the mazdoor being unable to move them any faster than the animals would care to walk. The best part of my room was a little swirling staircase that ran up from the balcony to the roof. Now the roofs were large, flat and close enough to other havelis to let me meet my friends up there and also let me jump across to their houses, if I needed to see them. When usually ended up being quite often! 

I leaned my elbows against the window sill taking in the views and the sounds of the bustling crowds enjoying basant and going about their day. 

"Aa gaeyi sau??", "we're back are we?“, I hear a sarcastic question from Baaji who was now fully dressed and ready to take on the day, and clearly me. “Nahi, raastaych aah", "no, I'm still on my way", I cheekily retorted, turning to face her with a smirk knowing full well she'd go full desi on me now. I liked to play a little with everyone, they knew I did it out of love and I was known as the fun one. But she didn't seem to be quite on the ball today, Baaji pursed her lips and shook her head, her tight bun still in place with a pencil, "tu nah sudhri" which meant "you'll never learn, Abbayi has spoilt you rotten. Chal, Aamnah is waiting for you." she replied quite shortly. Baaji always was quite short with everyone and we all just accepted this as being her way. I suppose it would work in her favour one day if she were to get into any kind of trouble, we knew she'd be able stand up for herself at least.

I'd normally have a good few minutes of to-ing and fro-ing until she'd walk off into a huff babbling about how I was Abbayi's favourite (which I was) and how I'd never surmount to anything. But today she walked away. I furrowed my brows and asked the empty room, "Hain? What's the matter with her?", I almost went to stop her to see if she was OK, but she'd already gone to her room. I released my dupatta gathered at my neck and swung my parandah to check it was still in place before running out of my room, flicking the net curtains out of the doorway and pulling only one side of the double doors to slam against the door frame as I ran downstairs towards the kitchen.

Aamnah was sat on a charpayi in front of a large stand that had all the mixed pickled fruit (achaar), chutneys and murabbay (jams) in vast steel mixing bowls she had been busy making the last few weeks. This was her hobby as well as her passion and you could see from the smile on her face that she was in her prime. "Aaja" she gestered with her head full of curls, "start filling a few jars with me." One of the domestic help passed me a large spoon and I started filling the jar with a plum jam.

A little later while filling multiple jars and handing them to the domestic help to box, Aamnah noticed I was quieter than usual and asked me, "Abi, is something wrong child?“

I met her gaze, "Baaji didn't seem up to arguing today. Is something the matter with her?"

Aamnah smiled and responded, "well, remember that we have some guests coming to dinner tonight?“, I nodded, "they're coming to see Sabah, so she must be nervous about that." Sabah was Baaji's name, which I rarely used to use. I screwed up my face in question, "why would it be cause for nervousness though, Aamnah? People visit our home all the time."

"It's because they are asking for her hand in marriage", Aamnah looked at me smiling, noticing my face turn from a question to the face of realisation, but still not quite understanding the cause for her nerves. I was a fairly rough girl, with very little interest in what was the "done thing for a girl" and Aamnah's answer hadn't satisfied me at all. All I knew it was the Amreekans coming to see my sister and we didn't even know what the guy looked like.

For the time this was the standard way of setting up an arranged marriage. Often the prospective couple in question wouldn't even get to see each other until the day of the wedding. Even though these people were visiting us specifically from America, they hadn't let go of this tradition, which was often seen as a positive thing. 

I had finished filling the jar and handed it to the domestic help to attach the lid and put in a box. "Anyway", Aamnah continued "you will get to meet them tonight yourself, so you can see what all the fuss is about." she got up wiping her hands on a little dishcloth. 

We had finished filling the jars with achars and Aamnah immediately walked to the courtyard. She had arranged for some flowers to arrive which were to be used for decorating the haveli. Blooms of yellow and orange were patterned into string and draped across the whitewashed haveli walls. The mazdoor had come to fix them in the position Aamnah and Aapa were pointing out to them. 

As evening fell, the air grew cooler and the guests arrived. The domestic help invited them in to sit in the courtyard which had been lit up with the warm glow of the lanterns and the freshly placed coal on the hookahs that bubbled away for the guests and family members alike. The men of the household, my three brothers Munavvar, Maqsood and Muneeb alongside Abbayi wrapped in a warm shawl between the three of them, sat at the far end of the courtyard with the visiting men. "Aayieh, welcome! Please sit down", my eldest brother Munavvar who I called Payyan (brother in Punjabi) invited them in shaking their hands and walked them towards the seating area of the courtyard. 

I had noted that one was fairly elderly (the father) Behroz uncle and the other was a little more my brother's age, Farooq bhai. They all sat down on cushioned recliners and indulged in conversation while smoking the hookah. Plumes of filtered smoke billowed into the evening sky, the men stroking their mustaches, attempting to blow the smoke in the opposite direction to where the women were sitting. They chatted casually of their businesses, their jobs, politics and their general lives. 

Aapa, Aamnah and I were sat with the two women who had arrived with the guest party. Again I noted one was fairly elderly (the mother) but the other was more my sister's age. She explained she was the wife of the younger man that arrived. I couldn't help but wonder, "So where was the boy they wanted to ask my sister's hand in marriage for? Did he not feel it necessary to bring himself to this occasion?" 

The domestic help were floating in between our seats handing us chilled glasses of sharbat. Sharbat was syrup coloured bright green or red diluted in chilled water over ice, sometimes with lemon added for extra freshness. It could sometimes be presented with milk adding a variety of nuts like pistachio, cashews or almonds decorated with dried edible rose petals, but as this was a dinner it was given mixed with water as a lighter alternative. 

"Shukriya", Shagufta smiled lifting a glass of of the red sharbat taking a little sip. She was the wife of the younger man. I noted that Shagufta was overly dressed. I mean granted we all were wearing heavily adorned clothes as was custom for the time but Shagufta seemed tacky. She seemed as if she had all the jewellery ever gifted to her by her husband and mother in law. Dripping bright yellow, rings on every finger, flowers in her hair and gold bangles strained at her wrists. Her make up was bright and oily, she left multiple lipstick smears on her glass as she sipped, flicking an imaginary strand of hair behind her sahara adorned ears which were attached to her swinging jhumkas. She smiled incessantly never faltering nor her face tiring. Her eyes switching between her mother in law, her husband and the stairs that led up and away from the courtyard. Baaji had not come downstairs yet. 

"Thank you for having us." Auntie Razia started. "You're very welcome", Aapa replied, "I hope your journey was comfortable". They had made their way from Karachi in the morning and mentioned that her sister had met them at the airport to collect them when they arrived from America. Auntie Razia had a brown lipstick on which stained her teeth. This made me rub my teeth with my tongue every time she smiled too widely. She too would wander her eyes towards the stairs, looking past Aapa when talking of the busy streets of Karachi. 

Eventually conversation turned to the matter at hand. "Where is Sabah, behenji?" auntie Razia finally burst her long standing question. "Ji Aapa! We're very excited to meet her", Shagufta added nodding making her jhumkas shake. "We haven't spoken of your son yet behenji", Aapa responded calmly, "I do wonder why he was unable to come along with you today?" Razia began laughing, "Haan, bas behenji, you know what the young men are like these days, he was unable to come because of his studies. He still has some exams left to complete. But we have brought a photo with us for you. Dekhiye, look."

Razia pulled out a passport sized photograph from her purse and handed it to Aapa. I strained my neck over Aamnah trying to get a look at the photograph. I couldn't help but thoroughly judge these people. "They're very ill prepared," I whispered to Aamnah, "how could they have not brought him with them? I'm not sure on these people." Aamnah strained a smile at me with pursed lips. Keeping up appearances wasn't my strong suit, but it was definitely hers. She gently squeezed my hand and whispered "Not right now, Abi. Baad mein, later....so what does your son do Razia auntie?" Aamnah raised her voice again taking the picture from Aapi. I took a thorough look at the photo.

It was a portrait shot toned in sepia of a young South Asian man. His hair was sculpted into a side parting and his face was generally non-descript save for a thinly carved moustache. He didn't smile and he wore a work shirt with short sleeves, the collar button done up tightly that caused his neck to squeeze up over the top. Too tight. His skin seemed flawlessly smooth and his shirt pocket had a pocket protector with a single pen in it. I immediately thought Baaji deserved better.

My eyes met Shagufta's gaze who had been looking at me for some time. She wasn't smiling. "Ah behenji, he's studying at the moment. But he will be working in computers. It's just a matter of his final exams this year ji." she responded in place of Razia auntie, who nodded enthusiastically her belly jiggling under her crepe dupatta. "Atcha, our Sabah is also in her final year of her pre-med." Aapa responded, "but I should assume her carrying on her studies..." "koi gal nai ji! Not a problem at all, in fact we would encourage it!" Razia auntie butted in. Aapa smiled and nodded a little.

Aapa then looked at me to signal me to go and bring Baaji down from her room. By this point Aapa's two sons and husband had arrived home for dinner too. Mustansar bhaisaab (Aapa's husband) worked in government, he was a senior civil officer and was responsible for the security of the country. He often travelled with a large party of security guards in multiple cars. He was a tall man with a presence about him and even though he was a fairly stern looking gentleman (and a stern father) he was very jovial when it came to his wife. But right now we had company. He was in his work clothes, but had by now unbuttoned his collar and suit jacket. He nodded at Aapa, who nodded back smiling gently and walked towards the men, "Asalaam-o-alaikum! Ki haal jai?" he walked over to Abbayi first and touched his palm to Abbayi's knees first and then to his own chest. He then introduced himself holding out his hands to shake the guest's hands. He greeted my brothers by patting them each on their shoulders as they walked up to him to give their respects. He was well respected in our house. "Baitiye, thuadda hi ghar hai! Please be seated, this is your own home." he sat down with the men and pulled a hookah towards himself to smoke.

Zuhdi and Zahan were my nephews, but they essentially were my age, they were only a few years younger than me. Technically I was their Khala (aunt) but both referred to me as Abi. We'd study together and play together when we were little. We had a more of a cousin or friends like dynamic than aunt-nephew and this suited me fine. They walked up through the courtyard with me as I was going to bring Baaji down. "Oye, we heard about your kite adventure!" Zuhdi mentioned excitedly, "Abi yaar we should have been there with you!" Zuhdi was the more excitable of the two brothers. He was a lean tall young man, a rugged rough looking lad who knew he had a face to impress. Zahan was a little more subdued of the two, "You really should have had one of us with you Abi Khala", he was the quieter, more formal one of the two. He was a cute, slightly chubbier young man with a heart so large and so soft it could make you melt. I was immensely proud of both of them and was dangerously protective of them.

I couldn't help but smile at their story, Babblu must have told them at some point during the day. "Aho, well I play fair and Abhay didn't!" we laughed and joked all the way up the haveli stairs and stopped outside of Baaji's room. "Khala?" Zuhdi knocked the door. Baaji came out in her trendy clothes, flared trousers and checked kameez, her dupatta draped over head, that tumbled over her shoulders and torso. She had finally eased out the tight bun she had in her hair and had a parandah adorned plait swung over her shoulder. She looked a little flustered, but pretty, I thought. "Wow, Khala, pulling out all the stops today!", Zuhdi responded. "You look lovely, Khala", Zahan smiled. 

"Are they all here?" she asked, "Everyone except your potential husband!" I snorted, and noted Baaji didn't seem impressed with me. "I've seen a picture though and I'm a little mmmmmm" I rocked my flat hand back and forth, Baaji bit her lip a little, "he's in his final year and will be "doing computers", I gestured the inverted commas to her, "according to his bhaabi." Baaji seemed a little bit at ease, knowing that at least they were of similar age and he was also into studying. "OK, challo." she turned to close her bedroom door. "Aye hai, aidi vi ki jaldi haigi!!" Zuhdi teased, to which Baaji playfully pushed him. Zahan giggled and shook his head, "Don't worry about any of this Khala, you're beautiful." Baaji cupped his face in her hands, "Thank you, bacha", she beamed at him. 

Baaji adjusted her dupatta on her head as we all walked towards the staircase towards the courtyard.


End file.
